


The Gym Sock Returns

by stjarna



Series: Writing Prompts / Drabbles / Requests [20]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: (Is that a word?), AU, Continuation of The Mystery of the Missing Gym Sock, F/M, Flirting, Fluffy, Fluffy and Humor, Friends to Lovers (continued), Humor, Nerdy Flirting, Tumblr Prompt, just in time for valentine's day, prompt request, sexually suggestive language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 03:37:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9697877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjarna/pseuds/stjarna
Summary: Follow-up toThe Mystery of the Missing Gym Sock(Not sure how much sense this fic makes without reading the first part, so I recommend reading the first part :) )





	

**Author's Note:**

> I had some of this already drafted (since many people had asked for a continuation of The Mystery of the Missing Gym Sock) when I got the following anonymous Tumblr prompt: If you're still taking prompts, can you write a fic with one of these lines: “You’re so hot you denature my proteins” or “Didn’t you know (bio)chemists periodically do it on the table?” ? For Valentine’s day hahahah
> 
> And, well, this fic was screaming "Add more nerdy flirting" so that was perfect timing!
> 
>  _Disclaimer_ : I believe that certain somewhat more carefree scenes in AoS have shown us that given the opportunity of a moment of happiness, Fitzsimmons are totally adorably flirty with each other. So, I don’t think this is entirely OOC ;)

Jemma’s fingers nervously play with each other and she bounces slightly in her knees, waiting within a crowd of people behind a waist-high barrier in the busy arrival hall of Terminal B at LAX. She tries to peek past an insufferable man two heads taller than her who has the audacity to block her view.

She catches a glimpse of the large sliding doors opening and sees people exit, some dragging only hand luggage along, others with carts stacked with suitcases; some wave enthusiastically at family members waiting like her, while others try to rush past a grandmother hugging her two grandkids, effectively blocking the path for everyone else.

Jemma’s gaze wanders back to the sliding doors. She presses her hands against her chest, trying to calm her beating heart, a shaky breath escaping her lips.

She had picked Fitz up from the airport on so many occasions. But today was different. Today was new. Today she wasn’t just picking up Leopold Fitz, her best friend, her friend with benefits. Today she was picking up so much more than that.

Except they had only _been_ more than that while divided by the Atlantic ocean and the entire North American continent ever since Fitz confessed his love for her in a scrawled message across her naked back and a handwritten letter handed to her by an overly friendly concierge at a conference hotel in New York.

It had been four months since then. Four months since he had accepted Stark’s offer to move from the London location to L.A. Four months for his green card application to being processed. Four months of only seeing him via video chat, calling him on the phone, exchanging innumerable texts with dorky emojis like lovesick teenagers.

Fitz had finished up projects in London, terminated his lease, packed, attended farewell parties, visited his mother in Scotland. He had plenty of things keeping him busy, while Jemma’s mind had time to idle on her days off from work. And her idling mind always ever lead to one thing: Thoughts. Worrying thoughts.

All-in-all, the transition from friends with benefits to friends in a loving committed relationship—as Fitz had worded it in his letter—had been far easier than Jemma had expected. A natural, smooth evolution. Second nature.

But as his arrival date drew closer, Jemma had grown increasingly nervous. They had changed the definition of their relationship, the parameters of their friendship. It sounded so good in theory.

But now, he was actually going to be there, flesh and blood, in L.A., living with her until he found a place of his own _(‘Cause we don’t want to muck this up by going too fast, right?_ he had said and she had wholeheartedly agreed).

Jemma couldn’t shed the fear that maybe the transition wouldn’t be as smooth in real life as it had been virtually, over the phone, via video, via text.

Ever since Cambridge, he had been her best friend. They had been inseparable. In the back of her head, she feared that taking their relationship to the next level could jeopardize that.

And yet, here she was, her heart jumping out of her chest with the anticipation of seeing him again, feeling his arms around her, kissing him, letting her hands glide down his...

Jemma closes her eyes, exhales sharply, and shakes away her distracting thoughts. The sliding doors open again, and the corners of her mouth pull into a wide smile when she sees Fitz walking down the hallway towards the exit.

Excitedly, she pushes past the insufferable giant blocking her, until she stands right in front of the barrier, ignoring the man’s grumpy protest. Intuitively, her hand shoots up, waving at Fitz, who stops briefly when he notices her, a wide smile adorning his face.

He’s wearing a backpack, holding on to one of the shoulder straps with one hand, and pulling a suitcase behind him. Most of his stuff would arrive later, via container, paid for by Stark Industries—the advantage of working for a generous employer.

Jemma shuffles past a line of people still waiting for their friends or family members to arrive. She mumbles quiet apologies, holding on to the barrier until she finally reaches the exit of the blocked-off passage where Fitz is waiting for her, standing slightly to the side to leave room for other passengers to pass.

Whatever worries had occupied Jemma’s mind only minutes earlier disappear in an instant. Her hands reach for his face and she kisses him through smiling lips. His mouth responds eagerly, and for a moment Jemma forgets that she’s in a busy arrival hall at LAX.

Jemma exhales sharply, feeling their breaths mix in the narrow space between their lips when their kiss breaks, their noses still gently brushing against each other. She feels a single happy tear rolling down her cheek and sniffles.

“Welcome,” she whispers against his lips, slowly opening her eyes, bringing enough distance between their faces so that his features become less blurred.

He’s smiling, his eyes shimmering happily. “Can’t believe I can do this in public now,” he mutters, slightly out of breath, his hands pulling her closer by her hips.

Jemma lets out a quiet laugh, her fingers absentmindedly combing through his hair as she gazes into his blue eyes, lost for words but drowning in nothing but bliss and happiness.

“Before I forget,” Fitz says, rolling his right shoulder back and pulling his arm up.

Jemma laughs out loud when she sees his hand, dressed in a woman’s white and turquoise gym sock, adorned with googly eyes and hair made from cut-up wool.

“Meet Gymma,” Fitz remarks, grinning cheekily.

“I thought there wasn’t anything weird going on?” Jemma asks, still giggling wildly.

“I got bored on the plane,” Fitz replies, shrugging his shoulders.

“You did _not_ do that on the plane,” Jemma observes matter-of-factly.

He chuckles. “Okay, _maybe_ I did it when I couldn’t sleep from excitement last night.”

“You had googly eyes and wool lying around in your packed-up, empty flat?” Jemma asks, doubtingly.

“Alright,” Fitz replies, rolling his eyes. “Maybe I’ve had it planned for weeks.”

Smiling widely, Jemma leans back, and raises her finger in a _hold on one second_ gesture, while Fitz’s left arm continues to hold her close. She notices his eyes following her hands in confusion as she opens her shoulder bag and reaches inside.

“I didn’t go as far as to dress it up, but—” she says, pulling out a single gym sock. “Meet… umm… Foots,” she adds, shrugging her shoulders, not hiding the fact that she made the name up on the spot.

Fitz laughs out loud, grabbing the single sock with his Gymma-adorned hand. “Hold on,” he remarks, turning the sock back to front. “ _You_ kept a single gym sock? That’s so un-Jemma-like.”

“No, of course not,” Jemma scoffs. “But I thought it would be funny, so I just brought one from a different pair. Not realizing to what great lengths _you_ would go,” she adds, letting her fingers play with Gymma’s woolen hair.

He leans closer, his tongue gently gliding across her lips as he kisses her.

Jemma sighs quietly when he pulls away, after what felt far too short.

Fitz grins at her cheekily and brushes away a stray strand of hair. “We’re adorkable,” he says.

“That’s not a word,” Jemma chuckles.

Fitz huffs in faked protest. “It’s all over the Internet!”

“Well, if it’s all over the Internet—” Jemma concurs.

She leans in to kiss him again, and once again the world around her disappears. A content moan escapes Jemma’s lips before she pulls away, begrudgingly.

“I suppose we should get to my flat,” she proposes, pressing her body closer against his. “There’s some things we probably shouldn’t do in public,” she adds suggestively.

“Mmmmm,” Fitz sighs in agreement, placing a gentle peck to her lips. “S’pose that would be frowned upon. Can’t risk losing my brand-new green card over lewd conduct.”

* * *

His head feels a bit foggy when he wakes up, one arm draped over the edge of the mattress. Fitz yawns and rolls onto his back, groaning quietly as he feels his body protesting the eleven-hour flight and eight hours time difference.

His hand reaches over to the other side of the bed, but grabs nothing but air. He turns his head to the side and chuckles when he sees Gymma’s googly eyes staring back at him from where the sock lies decoratively on Jemma’s pillow.

Fitz lifts his head slightly and smiles when he hears the distinct noises of Jemma preparing breakfast in the kitchen. His tired mind reminds him of the last words she’d whispered into his ear before he lulled off to sleep the previous night, holding her naked body tightly against his. _Don’t you dare wake up early tomorrow! It’s the weekend._

A sideways glance at the alarm clock on her nightstand tells him that his body had taken her suggestion seriously.

He lets out another deep yawn and stretches his arms, before pushing himself up to sitting, hearing his stiff spine pop in several places.

Sleepily he gets up, and finds his boxers among the scattered clothes on the bedroom floor. He puts them on and heads for the door, squinting when he opens it, blinded by the sunlight beaming in through the living room windows.

Jemma is standing in her small open kitchen across the room, dressed in nothing but panties and _his_ button-up from the previous day. Her back is turned to him as she pours boiling water into a ceramic teapot.

“Thief,” Fitz exclaims, causing Jemma to turn around.

The smile looking back at him just about takes his breath away. She’d always been beautiful, breathtakingly so, but seeing her like this still feels different, knowing that the woman smiling at him reciprocates his feelings.

Unexpectedly shy, Fitz clears his throat and gestures toward the bathroom with his thumb. “Just gonna take a shower,” he mumbles.

“Sure,” Jemma replies. Her eyes sparkle somewhat mischievously, leaving Fitz with a strange sensation of confusion.

He walks into the bathroom and sleepily looks in the mirror, massaging the back of his neck and his shoulders, sore from the long flight. He rubs his face, groaning, trying to wake himself up.

Fitz looks back up and squints his eyes in confusion when he sees faint black streaks on his forehead and cheeks in the mirror. He looks down at his hands, noticing black ink on his fingertips.

Slowly it dawns on him. He turns his back to the mirror, twisting his head backward to try and get a better look, and chuckles.

He rushes out of the bathroom and back to the bedroom.

“What did you do?” he calls out into the kitchen in passing, laughing wide-eyed.

Jemma snickers. “Must be a code,” she replies cheekily.

He darts into her bedroom, grabs his phone from the nightstand and takes it back to the bathroom, snapping a few pictures of his back in the mirror.

He sits down on the edge of the bathtub and zooms in on the images. There are various riddles drawn across his back. Some numbers. He recognizes the electron configuration of Iodine, the melting and boiling points of Oxygen. Some drawings, centric circles with interspersed dots. Atomic structures. Fitz grins as the answer to her code slowly dawns on him.

* * *

Jemma feels his hands slide around her waist, and chuckles when his lips place a tickling kiss against the crook of her neck.

“You know, _mine_ was a lot easier to decode, what with coming with an explanatory letter and all that,” he whispers into her ear, and the sensation of his breath against her tender skin sends an excited surge of heat through her body.

She frees herself from his embrace enough to turn around and face him. She snorts when she notices the black streaks of ink on his face. Slowly, she curls her hands around his neck. “But mine was a lot more fun, admit it!” she replies, cheekily. “An _actual_ code to decipher!” she adds, placing a soft kiss against his lips.

“Also,” she continues, “it’s amazing what a deep sleeper you are! You didn’t even _flinch_ while I was drawing on you.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, jetlag will do that to you!”

He pulls her closer, leaning in to tickle the soft skin below her ear with his lips.

“Well, Jemma Simmons,” he adds, placing small kisses along her jaw until his lips meet hers for another quick peck. “Let me tell you: Iodine... Lutetium-Vanadium... Yttrium-Oxygen-Uranium, too.”

She chuckles.

“Although,” Fitz continues. “ _Really?_ ‘Luv’? L-u-v? Your spelling is subpar!”

Jemma slaps him gently across the chest.

He smirks at her, his eyes sparkling flirtatiously. “But seriously,” he says, “using the periodic table to spell out a love confession. Let me repeat: adorkable!”

Jemma laughs out loud, enjoying their effortless banter.

“Well, I’m a biochemist,” she explains, moving her hands from his neck, down his naked chest, squeezing them between the narrow space between his arms and torso, until they reach his lower back, pulling him closer. “We rely on the periodic table for just about everything.”

“Is that so?” Fitz inquires playfully, raising his eyebrows.

“Yes,” Jemma replies, letting her eyes sparkle suggestively. “In fact, didn’t you know biochemists _periodically_ even _do_ it on the table?”

He chuckles. “Well, there’s a theory I’d like to test,” he remarks, tilting his head down to kiss her softly. “But, I have two questions first,” he remarks.

“Which are?”

“First, how many biochemistry pick-up lines did you google?”

“I did no such thing,” Jemma lies unconvincingly, doing her best to remain serious. “But… let me tell you that you’re _so_ hot you denature my proteins,” she adds, pulling one of her hands up to teasingly slide her index finger down his naked chest.

He laughs out loud, but Jemma notices that he seems to struggle to catch his breath at the same time.

“Well,” he exhales slowly, “Who could resist that kind of sexy talk?” he adds. “It’s not only adorkable it’s downright—”

“Hot?” Jemma asks, grinning suggestively, tilting her head to the side.

“Oh yes,” Fitz agrees, drawing in a slow breath. “Hot indeed.”

“Hot enough to denature your proteins?” Jemma asks, bringing her lips closer to his.

“Consider them denatured,” Fitz replies, closing the narrow gap between them.

For a moment, Jemma’s mind goes blank as she bathes in the electric sensation of their tongues dancing.

“So, what was your second question?” she asks, breathlessly, when the need for oxygen forces her to break their kiss.

“Ah, yes, right,” Fitz mutters, slightly out of breath himself. “You _will_ help me wash off your little love confession, right?”

“Oh yes?” Jemma asks, acting innocent.

“Uh-huh.”

“But I already showered,” she remarks, shrugging her shoulders.

A wide grin appears on Fitz’s face. He reaches for his shoulder blade, then wipes his fingers across the tip of her nose.

“There,” he says matter-of-factly. “You’re filthy. You should take a shower.”

Jemma chuckles. “Well, I suppose I can’t argue with hard facts,” she concurs.

“Hard facts?” Fitz remarks, pushing his bottom lip slightly forward. “Yes. They’ll be hard,” he adds and nods, grinning mischievously.

“Oh, get your mind out of the gutter, Leopold Fitz,” Jemma exclaims in protest, slapping him across the chest. “Plus, if you’re going with that metaphor then it would only be _one_ hard fact and… Why am I still talking about this?” she mutters, more to herself than to him.

He laughs out loud and silences her with a kiss that she definitely has no intention of protesting.

“Yes, we should skip the talking and just get… you know… clean,” Fitz mumbles against her lips, dragging her mind back into reality, as he tries to pull her along and toward the bathroom.

“Okay, but… one more thing?” Jemma interjects, pulling on his hand to stop his forward movement.

“Jemma Simmons. You’re insufferable,” Fitz exclaims, smiling at her widely.

“We have such great chemistry that we should do some biology together!” Jemma blurts out, looking at him wide-eyed, the corners of her mouth twitching mischievously.

For a moment, he just stares at her, his mouth slightly ajar.

Then he chuckles and shakes his head.

“I think it’s time I use a pick-up line myself,” he states matter-of-factly, and takes a step closer.

Jemma squeals when he (literally) picks her up.

 _Friends to lovers_ , Jemma thinks, as Fitz carries her toward the bathroom. _A natural, smooth evolution. Second nature._

They had changed the definition of their relationship, the parameters of their friendship. But the equation adds up. The components work together. Seamlessly. Effortlessly. As if nothing has changed. Except everything has changed. But not for the worse. That much Jemma’s sure of.


End file.
